


An Object in Motion

by entanglednow



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Holding Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy muses on the amazing and the mundane</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Object in Motion

It's a firestorm in the sky.

Amy doesn’t understand how it's burning in space, without any oxygen or anything to catch light. But it's huge and it's beautiful, and the Doctor hasn't pointed out that it's a dozen civilisations burning, or a giant star octopus spontaneously combusting, or a wave of space bacteria digesting a moon (like he has a disturbing tendency to when she's enjoying something.)

He's left the door open so she can watch it. He's still talking though. Still pacing like some combination of rock star and the universe's most insane geography teacher. A random jumble of words that only half make sense. She's not even entirely sure if she's supposed to be understanding it or just enjoying the way it bounces and tumbles around the Tardis. Like he's half-mad with the need to talk to someone, anyone.

Still, she's having a _moment_ here. So the next time he strays close Amy tangles her fingers round his and pulls him to a stop, making escape all but impossible. His hands are cold. But they're easy, all press of palm and curl of fingers. Like he's just been waiting for someone to hold his hand. Just been waiting for someone to reach out and tangle and _pull_.

He's different when he has someone to hang on to. Less firestorm in the sky and more...fish fingers and custard.

He makes a noise, quiet and satisfied, and squeezes.

The firestorm back-lights everything in orangey-yellow and it seems fair enough, here, on the edge of space where no one's around to care much. It seems fair enough that Amy should make a soft noise and dare, just once, to turn and reach out and see what the first alien she ever met tastes like.

It's easier than she expects. With his strange concept of personal space. She's already there and his mouth is cool and soft and right there, underneath her own. He doesn't try to stop her, or pull away, or anything. He just lets her kiss him. He lets her kiss him for a handful of seconds that stretches and stretches. Until Amy lets it snap.

The Doctor only has himself to blame. He did tell her to enjoy the alien culture after all.

When she draws away she's already enjoying a sort of amused satisfaction. Which turns into a noise of smugness when instead of the ramble she's expecting there's instead a low breathy sort of 'oh' noise.

Then abruptly he's looking straight at her again, expression a tangled up mix of confusion and suspicion.

"What?" she asks.

"That's new?" he says, sounding completely bewildered.

She doubts that somehow. This strange time-travelling alien with his nebula and his firestorms in the sky. Not if he makes a habit of bringing pretty girls to come watch them with him. Not the way he acts. Amy bets he lets people kiss him all the time. She bets he encourages it and pretends he doesn't. He seems the type.

"What no one's ever kissed you before." Because she really doesn’t believe it for a minute.

"Oh they have, that's not it." The Doctor shakes his head and looks at her. Like she's done something mischievous and not told him. It's the sort of look that he should be too young to pull off.

She's not apologising for it. Because who goes around apologising for kissing people after all. That would be insane. She isn't insane. No matter what's written in a file somewhere.

"This is very interesting," the Doctor says quietly. But Amy gets the distinct impression he's talking to himself. "Kiss me again."

He gives a slow but insistent tug where their hands are still pressed together.

One day she'll complain about how demanding things is impolite. But there's something in his face that leaves her eyeballing him curiously instead.

"Why?"

"Because I liked it," he says. Decisively, like that answers everything.

Amy's mouth curls at the edge.

"That's as good a reason as any I suppose," she says loftily. She catches the folded edge of his bow tie and finds his wide, crazy, laughing mouth again.

Second kisses should be slower. People that let you kiss them twice get kissed properly, so they know they made a smart decision. She pushes a hand into his hair, finds it soft and strange and delicate. She uses it to hold him against the mess of controls. All the wheels and miscellaneous things that somehow take this box through space. She buries her fingers and tightens them, encourages his mouth open and goes for it.

Amy's good at kissing. She's had a lot of practice. He'd probably object to the practice if she reminded him where she'd gotten it. But he's making little noises into her mouth that suggests he's too distracted to remember.

They're still holding hands. She likes the shift and trail of his fingers inside her palm. She likes the way he kisses her like he's surprised. She's had a lot of kisses, but she's never had surprised kissing before and she thinks she could get used to it. The way it's uncertain one minute and then pushy the next. Like she's an experiment he's trying out.

Amy's all for experiments in the name of science.

  



End file.
